


see the fire in your eyes

by x_olotl



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Arthur's POV, Historical Inaccuracy, Like, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Swearing, arthur's bad at feelings, background john/abigail, or is it????, possible spoilers???, very bad, vulnerable feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:34:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_olotl/pseuds/x_olotl
Summary: When things have been going south way too often to anyone's liking, Arthur found himself seeking solace to the world outside the camp and with nothing but his horse and a bottle of whiskey as companions. But when the nights are long and cold, and the whiskey tasting like water in the middle of a barren, and empty desert, the gunslinger's thoughts alarm him. Terribly so, that it sobers him.





	see the fire in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> hell im gonna practice my writing through rdr2 because ill be damned if i dont.

It was always going to be a bad idea, setting up camp up in the Grizzlies. Imminent threat was always present, always looming, just waiting to pounce on the vulnerable and the unwary. Either it was going to be a big, hungry bear, a pack of snarling wolves, or a cruel snowstorm, or the occasional Del Lobo, who have gone north to hole up while the south cools off. The Ambarino state has never been kind to anyone but its animals, and anyone who dared reside up in the cold mountains always end up unfortunate, somehow.

But not Arthur, he thinks. 

Maybe it's because God above has finally dubbed him an  _animal_. But he likes to think it's something else, something only Arthur is privy to. Arthur doesn't like the cold, not one bit. He prefers the hot, glaring sun from the west, but somehow, he found he didn't mind tolerating the bitter winds slipping past his leather gloves and wool coat and biting his skin. He found he didn't mind tolerating the way the snow's cold would grip his boots whenever it would sink into it, making the garments utterly useless. Or the way the snow and wind would blow at his face, or the way he would slide, struggling to cross the frozen waters because his horse got spooked and ran across it. It was a harsh environment, Arthur admits, but one that wouldn't deter him from returning to this safe haven. 

More often than he would like to admit, he would come here with a set destination, or let his horse carry him until she no longer couldn't, bless her, and merely set up camp. It was his peace of mind, something that he never thought he would have or deserved to have. Something he wasn't allowed the privilege of, with the constant attention from Dutch, the unrelenting taunts from Micah, damn him. Arthur liked their current camp at Clemens Point, he really did. However, the usual bustle of the place every waking morning, along with the chatter and giggles of the girls while they do their chores, and the drunken singing of Reverend Swanson, no matter how surreal it would seem, the way they could return to their usual routines after being busted by Pinkertons from their previous camp in Horseshoe Overlook...

It can all get a little bit too much at times, and he needed a break. Something he wasn't allowed to have, either, but here he is, hoarding it to himself selfishly.

He sighed as he sat up from his bedroll, still finding no amount of sleep after tossing restlessly for hours. It was already late. He guessed three am. He couldn't see the moon from where his tent opened up and the stars have been obscured by the clouds that came from overnight. The only light was from his campfire outside, and even that was fading, dying, so slowly and desperately clinging onto whatever little life it has left. It was almost poetic, he thought as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand as soon as a cough left his throat. A gentle breeze passed by and at long, long last, the fire died with its passing and he sighed. Arthur, however, did not move from his spot to reignite the flame. He simply sat there, green eyes quickly adjusting to the dim night. The campfire was glowing weakly from the embers and the snow around him glowed from what little moonlight was peeking past the clouds behind his tent. He rubbed his hands together in response to the sudden cold that now crawled over him. It was never wise to let your fire die in the middle of a cold, barren land, but months from now Arthur would think he'd rather die here than on top of a hill, the end of a barrel of a revolver pointed at his forehead and cursing Micah to hell, when everything he knew burned down in flames. 

But he doesn't think that. He doesn't know that. 

Micah, oh,  _goddamn_ Micah. He gets funny feelings just from the spineless bastard. Ever since the man joined all those months ago, Arthur immediately knew something wasn't right and yet he couldn't bring himself to tell Dutch that  _no_ , Micah isn't welcome to their family. But the only person he could ever talk about it was the boy, John. 

John.

They used to be friends, him and John. Still are. Barely. 

But they used to be close, and they revealed themselves to each other at nights like this, when the air is cold and the fire is dead and they were outside of camp. They would talk, all feelings and opinions in consideration, until the silence between them had become a silent agreement that they were done for the night and went to bed. And that's how things stayed for a little longer until life began to take its toll. 

The first was Mary. Oh, the sophisticated and  _civilised_ woman, who was so willing to humble herself just to be able to love a man like Arthur. When he was young and naive, he thought the privilege to be honouring. But now that he knew  _better_ , he now realised how humiliating it was, how degrading it felt to know that Mary, the woman he thought he would never get over, had to throw away her  _civilised_ life just to love Arthur. And oh, how Arthur tried to leave his life behind as well. But it was hard. It's not so easy to leave behind everything you've known for a decade, just for some woman. Arthur doesn't think of their family like that. But when she left, Arthur learned misery and miserable he was. It was his lowest low in life when he holed up in his tent for days. He didn't even have the privilege of privacy, as his tent was a lean-to, and everyone could see him lay down on his cot for days, refusing contact or food, until he eventually decided to get up and leave and return to earning his keep. 

It was when the small campings with John began. It started when Dutch sent John to follow him after Arthur has disappeared for a week without a word. He and John weren't that close yet. Sure, they taught each other how to shoot and how to throw knives and how to somehow get a drunken banker to spill out his account details and rob him dry afterward, but they never really taught each other how to become friends. Arthur supposed it was the beginning of it all when Arthur's life began spiraling way out of his control. Arthur was twenty-eight at the time, and John was eighteen. Ten years younger, ten years dumber.

John found Arthur at a spot in Tall Trees, near the Aurora Basin, and Arthur was a long way away from their camp at the time. It was an autumn midnight- the air was crisp, the wind was bitter, and the area was fogging. It didn't keep him from missing the faint glow of a campfire from beyond the mist, however, no matter how fickle the light looked from afar. But still, the young man pursued it and came upon a tent set up beside the basin, its resident kneeling by the fire, cooking some meat (venison, he found out later) from the sharp end of his knife. Arthur didn't look at him, but John knew the other was aware. So, he trotted his horse towards where Arthur has hitched his, and dismounted.

_"What are you doing out here, boy? It's late."_

Arthur's voice was hoarse and deep.

_Like he's been crying._

But John doesn't mention it. Instead, he joins the camp and rests by the fire. That's when the piercing green eyes finally looked up from the fire and towards him. 

 _"Dutch was worried. So, he sent me, his second favourite boy,"_ John chuckled and Arthur stared at him for a bit more. The younger man was starting to get alarmed by it, worried that Arthur might kick him out of the camp in the middle of the night, and into a thick, foggy forest. However, he heard Arthur sigh before the man began to eat, and John remembered his three day travel, just to get here, and the older man seemed to hear it as well, as after finishing up his own meal, he brought out another raw meat, stuck it in his knife and handed it to John. And as John ate, Arthur slowly began to open up and pour out his heart. At first, John was overwhelmed by the sudden vulnerability that Arthur decided to show him, of all people. It was a side nobody really got to see, except John. And with that thought, he began to listen to Arthur, all ears and attention unwavering, as the older man spoke and spoke, of the pain he's been carrying all those months ever since Mary left him, of how useless he felt, letting everyone see that side of him when he couldn't do anything. Arthur even spoke to him about how the man had nearly considered running away from the gang and take his own life, and at that very moment, John was thankful that he didn't. If he had, they wouldn't even have any idea, if Arthur had died or not. And after Arthur spoke, John moved to sit beside him and began to reassure him, comfort the hurting man, soothe whatever wound he can manage to tend. And he supposed it worked, somehow, because Arthur listened to him speak. 

And after the end of their heartfelt discussion, Arthur thanked him in a voice that John would have missed were it any other day at all. The emotion in the man's voice was raw and flowing, and John felt his heart ache at the sight of the man he looks up to, reduced to a miserable sob because some woman couldn't get past her  _education_ and truly and wholly accept Arthur for what he truly is.

Arthur was no good man at all, but John knows Arthur Morgan was the best of men in this cruel, cruel world. And as he watched the man pass out cold on his shoulder, he smiled at the thought. Only then did he notice the glint of an empty whiskey bottle sitting behind the older man, all along, and he took Arthur to his tent, laid him down and began to set up his own tent.

And after that night, Arthur remembered waking up with a hangover and recalling memories of his conversation with John, which crashed against him like bricks. As he dawned on the realisation, he immediately scurried out of his tent and frantically looked around his camp, seeing if John had bolted off while he was passed out, ready to tell everyone at camp and possibly ruin whatever reputation he had garnered over the decade he's been with Dutch. But instead, he finds John coming out of the forest, an armful of dried wood, with the familiar flush of frustration on his cheeks. If they both heard Arthur sigh out loud, they didn't say anything. Arthur simply, collapsed on his knees by the fire, his chest still aching and his heart still raw from their conversation that night. But at the moment, he had more things to worry about, such as his headache, and as John began the fire, he searched his trusty satchel for medicine. He found a bit, which was comforting, and he immediately took it. The bitter taste was enough to sober him up more, and it did send his headache away, though it was still ebbing on him.

 _"So, how are you?"_ At long last, John was the first to break their tense, and awkward silence. Still, Arthur avoided his gaze and kept looking at the fire instead. 

 _"Fine,"_ he responded blandly, the side effects of the medicine now making him light-headed and Arthur had never wanted to sleep so badly in his whole life. Mostly because of the medicine, but also because he did not want to have a conversation with John. Not because he didn't like John, no, but because of his raw emotions, that he's afraid he's going to utter some nonsense and accidentally spill out that he likes John or some shit like that.

Which he didn't mind, but was just utterly ridiculous. And it would be stupid. After Eliza, after Mary, Arthur doesn't think he would be ready for another commitment, especially so soon.

 _"What?"_ Arthur looked up from the fire and up at Marston, confusedly, and found the other man just as confused, and if not,  _more._ They both stared at each other for the next thirty seconds until Arthur realised he must've spoken his thoughts out loud. And he flushed, scrambling to sit upright, while John still looks at him like Arthur was the biggest idiot in the world, and not John.

 _"L-l-l-look, Marston- It ain't- It ain't like that at all. I was- I was just sayin' I didn't wanna talk with ya because I'd probably end up saying somethin' stupid like- like that I like you! But I don't. At least not like_ that _. But- But I ain't against that either. But- But not because I'd be interested in that with you! No offense. I-I'm just sayin',"_ oh Arthur, you goddamn mess. By the end of his messy explanation, he found John grinning in amusement while still staring at him. Arthur let out a defensive growl and his eyes hardened on a glare towards the younger man, but there was no heat, there was no anger. Perhaps a lingering threat, but it was all for good fun.

 _"If any word of this gets out in camp, you're dead to me, Marston,"_ and Arthur, for once, heard John laugh so much that the young man threw his head back.

And he thinks, that maybe, he didn't mind liking John either.

**Author's Note:**

> im actually not sure if clemens point is the next camp after horseshoe overlook because it's been a while since i finished the game and im replaying it atm, but i havent been touching the main storyline
> 
> ive just been filling up arthur's journal with tons of shit, and the story couldnt progress because theres no way in hell im touching leopold strauss's mission
> 
> not again bitch
> 
> anyway i hoped you enjoyed this


End file.
